Unexpected
by EmikoWhisperwind
Summary: A Legolas/OC story with a twist: Frodo and Sam, along with Smeagol, discover on the path to Mordor the One Ring has lost all of it's infamous evil powers. It no longer hides the wearer and no longer weighs heavy upon Frodo's mind. Does a cold Elven girl,


Unexpected  
  
by Saarielle-Lady-Of-Darkness   
  
Author's Notes: This is my first real Lord of the Rings fanfiction but I'm no stranger to Fanfiction.net. I have a few other stories under different names, mostly anime. I'm not an expert at Lord of the Rings but I'm learning new things everyday, mostly with help of my friend whose writing another story parallel to this one. I'd really appreciate constructive critiscm and if I have something wrong don't hesitate to tell me and I'll change it. I will not tolerate flamers so don't bother reviewing if that's what you're going to do. Thanks for taking the time to read my story and by all means enjoy and let me know what you think!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Lord of the Rings except a few piccy's of Legolas (^o^), Aragorn (^-^), and the books.   
  
  
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Times have indeed changed in these lands. Darkness creeps on sullen feet back into the forests and hearts of all. The world is laden in sorrow and blood, weighed down by the Wars of the Beings within it.  
For many years, The Wise Ones had felt the changing atmosphere. They listened carefully to the wind, the water, the flames, and the earth each day praying, hoping, that somehow they were wrong. However, praying rarely does justice in matters in which Fate is the only God and so they knew.  
For milleniums I have waited to be re-discovered. I waited for someone or something to save me from my watery trenches and teach me all I desired to know. And, all at once, I found myself switching owners here and there until finally being kept in a small, quaint place I could learn nothing from. Indeed I was dissapointed my new master kept me within the borders of the Shire.  
But alas, as the old saying goes, Beggars can not be choosers and so I was patient, calling here and there for my Father to awake from his slumber. Soon He heard my call.  
My newest master traveled very far with me but he would never talk to me. He kept me hidden away and ignored all that I said to him, my honest pleas for conversation and lessons on the world this day. Until finally, I realized where he was journeying. He was traversing to my Father's land whence I would be reunited with him and once again be able to grow through knowledge and be able to reign.  
But I had but one wish that I asked, besides being granted permission to create Shadow and Darkness over the lands. I wished to be placed into a physical form instead of a dratted, old, scratched ring. You see, When my Father forged the ring, He poured his evil, in form of his blood, into the mold and soon as He plundered and pilaged, The souls of those He murdered were drawn back to the ring. Mixing the Dead with the Evil never brings about happy things and I am proof. As the ring destroyed more and compliated more souls it's evil ways created me.  
My Father named me Nuruhuine - which means Death Shadow in Elvish - but I preferred to be called Anarathien for it had a prettier ring to it. After the Dead was twisted with the evil I was born, a spirit that felt no pain, no emotion, and no regret. I lived as a young child within the ring, asking many questions and expanding my power as I fed on and created Shadow.   
Soon I became very knowledgable and began to think and challenge myself. Father was very pleased with me and told me so. I loved Him so but I longed to be more than just a ring he wore on his finger. But, as an excuse no doubt, He told me He thought me so precious He didn't wish to endanger me in a form as weak and vulnerable as a being. But that did not change my mind though I kept quiet.  
In days after, My Father was killed and I taken by a mortal man. I did not especially like him as he never put me on his finger but kept me on a hideous chain for all to see. The attention I received was hideous and they were always groping me, talking to me. I was glad the day he was killed, even if I had a small part to play in his demise. After some period of time as the river grew stouter I was placed into the care of a river-dweller who pined over me all day long. I did not especially care for him either so when I was given the chance to escape, I did so. And that is how I came to meet my new master's acquantince.  
And so that brings me back to where I began. Indeed my new and young master knew all about this history as it was recounted to him and for fear of what his petty counsellor might say he refused all of my offerings and denied me.  
So it was that we drew closer to my Father's Lands and we could talk openly once more for a short while. I told Him of the nasty little hobbit's intentions with me and pleaded with Him to turn my soul loose into a beautiful being so that I may escape and come back to Him of my own accord. I told Him to heed my warning and that if I was indeed destroyed how it would certainly mean His doom as well.  
  
  
~*~And this, my friends, Is where Anarathien Nuruhuine's view ends, and Saarielle Darkstaff's tale begins....~*~  
  
  
  
Wind, as soft as a spring rain, fell across the many moors and plains. Boulders dotted the countryside and from far away looked like dark gumdrops littering the floor near a child's feet.  
When she opened her eyes, An overwhelming sense of fatigue swept over her, much like the wind. The woman, Elven by no doubt, never had any trouble remembering before her whereabouts or her reasons for being there.  
She looked to her right, finding a horse, a beautiful caramel color, looking at her in confusion. She knew the horse by name as well as it's age but for the life of her she could not remember where they had set out from.  
The horse, Featherfeet was it's name, gave a small nudge with it's head as if to had forgotten and looked to her for answers. The woman finally gave in and smiled, stroking the long furry expanse of the horse's nose.  
"I'm sorry dear friend. I too have found a momentary lapse in my mind. Perhaps we should continue the way we were walking and our purpose here will be made known to us." Featherfeet snorted quietly in agreement and so, with sword clanking at her side, her bow and quiver softly bounding off her back and her feet as light and swift as her horse's, She made out towards the west.  
As she walked, The woman began to go over in her mind things she was sure of. One of them being her name. Her title was Saarielle Darkstaff but names meant little. Alas, Saarielle held no memory of her parents or her family or her homelands. All she could remember was darkness swift and unyielding.  
"Perhaps I hit myself on the head some point long ago and now it's coming back to haunt me. The answer to this bafflement does not come on hasty wings however it aches my mind to think so. Let's put all worrying to end here and now and just traverse on." She spoke as if to a young child, firm but with gentle tones. Featherfeet made no sound this time just kept walking with her mistress's pace.  
In all truth, Saarielle looked like something directly out of the forest. She wore a long brown tunic which at her belt was slit so long, green-clad thighs leading down to toned legs and then to brown lace-up boots were exposed. Underneath she wore a heavy green shirt over a lighter white shirt and then to leather wrists guards engraved with winding vines and flowers. Her long golden river of hair flowed down her back to her waist while two shorter strips cut in front of her elven-ears. Eyes of blue rimmed in black velvet surveyed the countryside as she walked. There was a naturally cold air about her, the kind of feeling that she didn't want company.   
After a short time, She came across a line of people, young, old, women, children, men and horses stretching far. She could barely see the end of the line. Many were walking and looked tired. Some carried heavy packs while others carried the sick or wounded on stretchers. How she knew whom they were she have not a clue but her mind distinguished the riders as Rohirrim making these people the ones of Rohan.  
Saarielle thought she remembered they were friendly. So, with a few mutterings to Featherfeet, She knew there would be no real reason to bother them. Without another word, She mounted Featherfeet and began to ride the opposite way they were riding. There was no big fuss, She would simply go around them.  
"Well, Where are we off to next, hmm, Featherfeet? Shall we continue on our chosen path?" The horse snorted as it rode on and Saarielle laughed.  
"Yes, whatever you say. You know I will always value your council." As she watched the many people walk, Saarielle began to wonder about her memories hidden in the dark of her mind. As far as she could remember she had been traveling alone with Featherfeet who, as well as she, had a distinct dislike of people - be them elves, dwarves, or men. Saarielle wondered why.  
'Why do I like to be alone so much?' True, as slowly as the sun creeps across the sky, tidbits of her thoughts returned to her. The first one was she sought solitude and avoided people. Perhaps because they were deceitful or had hurt her in someway in the past. Either way, She began to regain an even cooler demeanor when looking at the people alongside her. Indeed she was thinking greatly of riding off away from them just to remain unnoticed and unbothered.  
Featherfeet hopped a little wanting to go faster and Saarielle obliged. However before long, She realized she had gained the convoy's attention.  
  
  
To be Continued in Chapter Two 


End file.
